


Mostly Harmless

by Dragonsigma



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Chess, Humor, M/M, everyone can see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They receive the message when the ship is still recovering from that unfortunate incident involving a grain shipment, a spaceport bar fight, and an unlicensed pet tribble, and Jim is still finding fur in various places where fur is not supposed to be even while Scotty swears blind no traces of the creatures remain.</p><p>"Let me get this straight," Jim begins, "We're being contacted, in the middle of nowhere, by the spaceship equivalent of the shady guy in an alley who says 'hey you, wanna buy a watch?’"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Harmless

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhere very soon after the first movie. Four or five months, perhaps. Into Darkness invites a few things I didn’t want to address in a non-serious fic. All alien names are made up except for the tribbles. Just assume a few TOS events played out in the alternate timeline.

They receive the message when the ship is still recovering from that unfortunate incident involving a grain shipment, a spaceport bar fight, and an unlicensed pet tribble, and Jim is still finding fur in various places where fur is not supposed to be even while Scotty swears blind no traces of the creatures remain. Chekov keeps insisting the furry pests ate all his left socks, although from the way Sulu smirks when the young ensign turns back to his controls, Jim can tell that the tribbles had very little to do with it. But apart from that... memorable occasion, very little else has happened in the past few weeks. They're currently headed towards a few of the more out-of-the-way star systems for family visits requested by some of the crewmembers, out of a lack of any other pending tasks. The Enterprise is no longer required for supply runs to the new Vulcan colony, they haven't had any alien diseases on board (although McCoy grumbles and says it's only a matter of time), and the Klingons have apparently found something better to do than attack passenger ships in Federation transport zones. Space, the young captain has come to realize, is big, very often boring, and requires an unseemly amount of paperwork.

Jim leans back in his chair and listens as Uhura deftly translates the recording out of whatever obscure language it originated in. He's glad she's so good at that; he's not a moron when it comes to languages, far from it actually, says his award from a Yaros literature exam, but the last time he tried to chat up an out-planet girl in a bar after a particularly grueling day of testing at the Academy, he ended up being punched in the face with a spiny purple fist and had to return, somewhat ruefully, to Dr. McCoy for a hypo for the swelling and a lecture on "simple etiquette" and western Zarosian dialects. How was he supposed to know there was a subtle difference between the words for "attractive" and the words for "good for breeding" anyway?

"We're receiving a message from a merchant vessel registered to the planet Rhalsen," Uhura reports. Jim doesn't know much about the the Rhali, except that they aren't aggressive and tend to stay out of any politics that doesn't involve trade. Uhura continues, "They welcome us to this cluster and... request permission to come aboard for purposes of selling their goods, which are described as valuable and desirable." The bridge is silent for a moment in confusion. Sulu and Chekov are glancing around as if to discern that they are not the only two puzzled by this transmission. "That is a fairly unusual request," Spock observes. 

"Let me get this straight," Jim begins, swiveling around to look at Uhura. "We're being contacted, in the middle of nowhere, by the spaceship equivalent of the shady guy in an alley who says 'hey you, wanna buy a watch?’" The analogy is met by assorted sighs, short laughs, and, from Spock, a confused glance. 

"Basically, yes," Uhura says, giving him a look. He knows that look, it's the please-be-serious look he's received many times in recent years, ever since they first had classes together. He's learned to ignore it. 

"Are they legit?" he asks, earning another glance from Spock, this time disapproving in much the same manner as Uhura's, except for what might be a hint of affection. Jim really needs to stop staring and get back to work. "Do they have legitimate identification codes?" he amends. Sometimes he wishes Starfleet wouldn't insist on all this legalese. Then again, it is funny hearing Chekov using some of the longer words.

"Yes, sir. And I've checked them against the warning database and nothing was flagged. I'll assume they are what they say, traders." Uhura seems confident, and Jim knows that's usually a good sign.

"Let them come onboard. The crew could use a diversion. It's been a while since people went shopping." Jim enjoys the looks of surprise around the bridge. 

"Are you sure that is wise, Captain?" Spock says. "The last time the crew, as you say, went shopping, it resulted in significant damage-" 

"We got infested by tribbles, I know. I was there. We'll just make sure nobody buys anything living this time." New Jim Kirk Goal: make Spock stop taking everything so seriously. He idly wonders if he could convince the Vulcan to buy something, and what, if anything, that would be. He's been in Spock's quarters before and knows that his First Officer doesn't have much in the way of personal effects. New Jim Kirk Goal, Additional: find out what this trader has that would interest Spock. First, to get into his good graces by submitting to the idiotic formality. 

"Mr. Chekov, make an announcement. Any off-duty crewmember may spend his or her own credits on purchases of their choosing, as long as said purchases do not pose a danger to the ship or crew." It sounds like something Spock would say, or one of the drier officers he has known. He shoots a smug look at him while Chekov speaks over the ship's intercom, but Spock has gone back to whatever work he has been doing. Eventually Jim will figure him out (or so he's destined to, according to the other Spock at least, and the old man probably knows what he’s on about). He doesn't hope as far as getting him to smile, but even a glimpse of something other than the stoic mathematical mindset he usually holds would be a success.

Work continues, uneventfully.

~o~ 

During their lunch break, Jim drags Spock down to the room where Security has allowed the salesman to set up shop. McCoy, of course, had refused to come, grumbling about the absurd number of disease vectors involved and how much of an idiot Jim was to allow the traders on board. Naturally, his more-than-slightly-paranoid warnings were ignored. His request for something small to send his daughter wasn’t, though. Jim suspects most of his complaints are simply to hide the fact that he’s far too busy with other things to go shopping. Through the ship’s fairly efficient rumor mill, Jim’s learned that one of Scotty’s underlings has a sick brother on some obscure low-tech colony the ship’s set to visit, and he’s also heard from Christine Chapel that McCoy has quietly offered to supply the needed care. Jim would normally tease the doctor about using his spare time to build a kit for the guy, but somehow he knows he shouldn’t mention it. Damn conscience. 

When they arrive, various people are already milling about tables piled with items from hundreds of different planets. There are scrolls and data chips, bits of machinery, odd foods and plants, carved and constructed objects of all sorts, and many other items Jim doesn’t even recognize. 

To his surprise, their "salesman" turns out to be two women and a group of assistants. The Rhali are basically humanoid, evolved from seadwelling ancestors, with scaled blue-green skin and translucent ridges on their joints, neck, and head. Both of the women are wearing gold rings pierced through the head crest, which Jim assumes denotes some form of rank. 

The merchants, who introduce themselves as Karsel and Nerlet, make a show of being incredibly honored to meet the famous hero Captain Kirk- and immediately try to sell him things. Despite their first communication, they speak surprisingly good Standard, and soon Jim is haggling with Karsel over the price of a handhold hologram projector.

He still notices when Spock attempts to use his distraction to quietly leave, probably planning to attend to some science thing he feels requires his attention, and smiles when Spock's focus is caught by another display. Still debating prices, he watches out of the corner of his eye as Spock singles out a few specific pieces from a tray of sensor components and asks about their cost. He seems to approve of whatever Nerlet tells him, and buys the components after only a few moments’ thought. 

Jim finally agrees on a price for the projector. Karsel finishes the transaction and then runs off to demonstrate some hydroponic seeding globes to Sulu. By the time Spock returns to his side, Jim is already fiddling around with the device, flicking through the geometric shapes in the default programs.

“Found something?” he says smugly, looking at Spock through a slowly-rotating blue pyramid. 

“These circuits will accelerate the progress of five experiments the science department is running. It would have taken Starfleet couriers three weeks to deliver comparable circuits, assuming their supply department is as inefficient as the last time I requested replacements. That would have set back several crucial elements of the projects.”

“So it was logical to buy them now instead of waiting?” 

Spock gives him a look that says he isn’t quite sure whether or not he’s being made fun of, so Jim just smiles and says, “So is there anything here you like that isn’t related to work?” Science stuff doesn’t count towards his Jim Kirk Goal, of course.

“I do not see the purpose in purchasing items one does not need.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Jim shrugs and digs through a basket of woodcarvings, pulling out a figure that looks like a duck with a turtle shell. “Aww, look! This is so cute! Can’t wait to show Bones. Joanna would love this.” Spock, predictably, doesn’t offer an opinion on the cuteness of the turtleduck. 

One of the traders’ assistants hurries over, and Jim buys the piece, tucking it away in a pocket. He goes on to the next table, looking over clusters of utterly unfamiliar objects, until something he recognizes catches his eye. A chess set, carved of some alien material, pieces formed in the classic Earth shapes. He glances briefly over at Spock, wondering what sort of game the Vulcan would play. 

He’d always been good at the game; he had spent weeks on end learning it as a kid after his stepfather told him chess was “too complex” for him to handle. He’d proven him wrong within a few games, and then the man had suddenly refused to play any more. So Jim had played against classmates until bar fights and then Academy studying had pushed it from his mind. It would be nice to play again. 

“Hey, Spock!” he says, maybe a bit too brightly judging by the slightly suspicious look he receives. “Do you play chess?”

“I do. I was introduced to the game by Lieutenant Uhura, although I was already familiar with a Vulcan game played along similar principles.”

Vulcan chess? Jim makes a mental note to look into that. After they’ve played a few games of Earth chess. And then he realizes the corner he’s backed himself into. At this point, trying to prod Spock into buying the set would just be a jerkass move. Screw his Jim Kirk Goal. He waves to Nerlet. “Hey! I’d like to get this too!”

“Captain, do not feel you need to buy items for me-” 

Jim cuts off the protest. “I want to get it for both of us. I need something new to do on this ship. It’s my money. And I’ve told you, it’s Jim when we’re off-duty. Anyway, I think this a situation where I win, because I’m going to make you play.” Jim makes it a challenge, and the momentary spark of interest in Spock’s eyes shows he’s fully aware of that fact.

“I cannot change your decision. But you should not expect to continue to win, if we play.” 

So there is something outside of duty that could interest Spock. Does that discovery count as a fulfilled Jim Kirk Goal? Jim decides it does. 

He’s taking the board and box of pieces from the saleswoman when Uhura walks by, her arms piled with sheathed scrolls and a container of coffee. The Terran drink has become popular across the galaxy since shortly after Earth's First Contact. The ship can produce it, of course, but no replicator can truly replace Earth-grown beans. Jim begins crafting mental plans to bargain, gamble, or beg some off of her as soon as possible. 

Christine walks up to her and says, “Sulu’s holding a meeting. Told me to tell you they want you there.” He wonders for a moment what the meeting is about. Probably something to do with his plants. Or the crew might have organized some sort of game.

"I've told you already, I don't approve of your little game," Uhura says, but then her expression shifts slightly and she finishes, "The usual time? I'll see what I can bring." She nods towards the coffee. So it is gambling. Jim decides to leave them to it; he’s found that games only get awkward when the captain tries to join. Or maybe it’s because he keeps bringing up obscure rules. Or because he counts the cards and tends to win. Whatever it is, he’ll leave them to it. It can’t be anything too bad. 

~o~

"I'm sorry, Mr. Scott," Sulu announces, "but given that your prediction of 'wildly, in the engine room, sometime this month' has failed to come true, you are required to forfeit-" he examines the padd, "ten credits and a bottle of scotch." Scotty grumbles but hands over the money and alcohol, which Sulu adds to the pile. 

"The pool currently stands at one hundred seventy-three and a half credits, five rec room tokens, three days of leave time, a datastick, various food and drink items, and a bunch of socks. Does anyone want to make a new bet?" 

"I will." Uhura steps forward. "I bet that they'll be stranded on a planet, for five credits and this," she holds out a small jar full of coffee beans, to interested sounds from the rest of the group, and a smile from Christine.  

"Approved," Sulu says, recording her bet on the padd. "So you've decided to join us?" 

"What are you all doing in here?" a new voice says. Chekov is standing in the doorway with a couple of engineers who are evidently surprised the teenager managed to sneak in with them. "Is this some party I was not told about? Or a game?"

"It's just gambling, son, nothing too interesting," one of the engineers says, but the navigator has already stepped into the room and picked up a padd, and is scrolling through the various bets.

"Ah!" Chekov exclaims, his face lighting up as he waves a finger in the air. "You are thinking Captain Kirk is wanting to do the sex with the Commander?" The room falls silent as everyone turns to stare. "I am correct," he deduces, smugly.

"Laddie, this isnae a discussion for-" Scotty begins, but is cut off.

"I am seventeen years old. I am not a child; I know what the sex is," Chekov says, sounding somewhat indignant. "And I am  _agreeing_  with you. The way the Commander looks at him, it is with far more concern than is to be expected from a Vulcan, yes? And Captain Kirk spends so much of his free time with him. It is like an opera! Next the Captain will come back grievously wounded from an away mission, and Commander Spock will confess his love and bond with him through his mind- I know this is something Vulcans do, I have read about it- and pull the Captain back from death and then we will all be happy." He pauses. "Or they will both die, and then we will be sad, but I am hoping that will not be the case."

Astonished silence. Sulu is the first to recover. "Is that your bet?" he asks, with something approaching a sly grin on his face. 

"It is," Chekov confirms, with only half a moment of thought. "I place ten credits on it." Sulu nods and types this in while Chekov examines the pile of items. 

"Are those my socks?" he accuses, the light in his eyes betraying his amusement.

“Uh. Yes?"

"You have lied to me! I am most betrayed!" the young Russian exclaims with mock severity. 

"Sorry, kid," Riley tells him. "They're on the pile now. If you want them back, you'll have to win them." 

"That is what I am planning to do. Otherwise, I would not have placed a bet. Are you needing me to explain the rules of this game?" At this, Riley fumbles for a response and then falls silent. 

"That is good. Now, what other secret games have you been having and not telling me about?" 

~o~

Jim and Spock play their first game that night- or whatever passes for night on a starship’s military timetable- and to Jim’s mixed annoyance and amusement, Spock wins. When Jim claims it’s just because he’s tired, that he wasn’t at his best and of course he’d normally win, Spock suggests they stop playing and that he sleep, which gets Jim even more amused-annoyed. He convinces Spock into another game, which is abandoned when an alarm goes off in Engineering and they have to hurry down to the computer banks to fight off an intelligent virus that threatens to blow up entire portions of the ship. Several hours of shaking engines, flashing lights, and angry beeping later, the ship is secure, and they’ve got the virus quarantined on a data chip that Scotty’s probably going to subject to horrific destruction for daring to harm his silver lady. Jim wouldn’t argue with him.

They eventually find out the virus originated in a sketchy holo game one of the younger scientists bought from the Rhali and installed on his padd, from where it promptly spread to the main system. Normally in a case like this, Jim would leave the matter of discipline to Spock, and the ensign really should have known better, but the guy looks like he’s about to cry and Jim’s heard from the cadets how harsh Spock can be. So he gets into his best “serious Captain” attitude and revokes shore leave privileges for the next destination, after giving him a bit of a lecture on common sense. 

By the time they’re done, the chess game has been shaken out of recognition and although Spock claims he can reset it from memory, this time Jim really is too tired to play and accepts Spock’s insistence that he rest without too much complaint. As Spock leaves, Jim promises himself that he will win the next game.

~o~ 

He doesn’t, in fact, win the next game, but he wins the one after that, and by the time Starfleet command sends them their next mission, the chess games have become a daily tradition. They’re getting used to each other’s styles: Spock’s logical calculated game and Jim’s bold charges.

Sulu seems to be having “meetings” more and more often. His game must be getting popular, Jim thinks. 

Meanwhile, the money and prizes pile up as bets grow wilder and wilder. 

~o~ 

It was only supposed to be a normal diplomatic mission, but when did anything on this damn ship go according to plan? McCoy suppresses both a sigh of annoyance and a stab of fear as the swirling transportation energy fades to reveal Jim leaning heavily against Spock's side, his eyes unfocused and an unnervingly large smile on his face. Spock himself looks faintly alarmed and a little amused, if McCoy is reading him right, which he's pretty certain he is. He's also pretty certain this was not how the mission was supposed to turn out.

"What did he do this time, Spock?" The doctor steps forward but Jim waves him off. "'m fine, Bones. Nuthin' to worry about," he slurs, ending on a laugh. McCoy looks back at Spock. "You. Explain. And take him down to sickbay."

Spock recounts the story as they walk, with the captain adding his own occasional half-coherent comments. "We beamed down to the planet's surface to meet with the ruling council, as planned. The political customs of this planet apparently involve ending council sessions with the consumption of some form of intoxicating beverage that I do not believe was simply-" McCoy cuts him off with a snort, hiding his worry in exasperation. "Alien booze, Jim? Seriously? You don't even know what was in it!"

"...wuz nice." Jim protests, as if that justifies everything.

"It doesn't matter how nice it was!" the doctor snaps. "You should know better... No, what am I saying?" He glares at Spock instead. "YOU should know better than to let him drink that, Spock! What were you thinking?"

"I assure you, Doctor, I did attempt to advise the Captain against such an action, but he did not-"

McCoy sighs, for real this time. "I know, I know. He doesn't listen to me either. Let's get this fixed up."

They reach sickbay, and McCoy grabs a tricorder from a table while Spock helps Jim sit on the edge of a bed. A moment later, and McCoy is hovering over him with the device. An initial scan shows nothing serious or permanent, as does the way Jim swats weakly at the tricorder, and so McCoy lets his fear fade into mere annoyance. 

"Whatd'd I tell ya about the alien voodoo things, Jim?" he scolds. Somehow, he always ends up sounding like a kindergarten teacher. Don’t touch that, don’t eat this, always have a buddy with you on field trips... Weren't Starfleet captains supposed to have common sense? Jim might be a genius in many ways, but keeping himself safe is not his best field.

"'m an adult, Bones. I can ta' care of m'self," Jim whines. 

"Sometimes I doubt that," McCoy mutters. "Watch him for a moment while I run this data, would you, Spock?"

McCoy leaves his trouble-magnet captain under what he hopes is Spock's responsible supervision, and turns his attention to the computer analysis. 

“Mmhh. Good news," he says, examining the readout. Spock turns to listen. "It's not alcohol, well of course I knew that already. Some sort of complex organic compound, can't tell exactly what without a sample. Whatever it was, it's not going to do any harm and should be out of his system within a few hours. Symptoms should fade before then." He slaps the padd down on a table. "Ya hear that, Jim? You got lucky this time!"

"Heh, yeah, th't's me. L'ky," the too-reckless-for-his-own-good captain murmurs. 

"You can leave, just take things easy... Jim?" Jim is paying absolutely no attention to him, his eyes fixated instead on... Spock. With a look, McCoy realizes, barely avoiding laughing, that he's seen on Jim too often to mistake it. "Took you long enough," he mutters under his breath, looking back at the screens to hide his smile. 

"Doctor?" Spock prompts, and moves towards him, but is stopped when Jim makes a whining sound, clearly upset at the idea of Spock leaving his line of sight. 

"Y'r ears. Th'r pretty," he slurs. McCoy chokes back another laugh at Spock's momentary look of alarm. 

"...Captain?"

" _Ears_. _Pretty_ ," he says, pronouncing the words with exaggerated care, smiling up at Spock. "Lemmie touch 'em?" McCoy notes that the ears in question are rapidly turning a darker shade of green. 

"Captain... Jim, you are currently..." Spock begins, awkwardly, when Jim weakly flails his arm at Spock's head. In an attempt to prevent the captain from falling, Spock reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. Jim, ever the opportunist, grabs at that instead. 

 McCoy doesn't know much about touch telepathy, but it's obvious to anyone from the way his ears are going even greener that whatever Spock has inadvertently picked up from Jim is... fascinating, to say the least. Even so, he doesn't pull away.

"I'll leave you to it then?" McCoy says, not bothering keeping the smug tone out of his voice. "Just wait until he's sober..." At this, Spock goes still, almost radiating outrage.

"Doctor, if you believe I would ever... take advantage of this situation, you are completely mistaken." 

This time McCoy does laugh, enjoying Spock's confusion at the reaction. "I was _going_ to say, wait until he's sober and then we'll have a laugh when he realizes how he's been acting, but if you two have _other plans_ , far be it from me to interfere! But be warned, I've been watching out for that boy for years now, and if you ever hurt him, well, let's just say it won't be very pleasant for you."

"Don' I get a say in this?" Jim mumbles, plaintively. McCoy simply pats him on the head and returns to his office. 

~o~ 

Later, when rumors about the mission and its aftermath are flying around the ship like mutant insects (They‘d found those once. Fortunately the bugs didn't get on board, but the bites were hell to treat), McCoy finds Sulu in the officers' mess, simultaneously eating his meal and working out a page of complex equations with a very excited sounding Chekov. McCoy can't make heads or tails of the glimpse he gets, and is very glad his field doesn't require that type of mathematics. 

"At this rate, Pasha, you'll outdo Scotty's transwarp mechanism before Starfleet can even install it!"

The teenager blushes slightly at the compliment, protesting, "You are only saying that so I help you with your lab project! I have been telling you, I work with mathematics, not plants!" 

"Mr. Sulu?" McCoy interrupts in his sweetest voice, which the crew has quickly learned to associate with trouble, "I'm sure you've heard the news by now. I think you'll find this means I win." 

"Aw, Doc, really?" Sulu says, though he's clearly pleased by the turn of events. "What was your bet again?"

McCoy grins- it's an alarming look on him, and he knows it- and reaches across the table to take the padd Chekov's working on. Chekov makes an unhappy sound and tries to grab it back, to no success. The doctor taps a few items on the screen and brings up the "secret" list of bets. Next to "McCoy, L." is a single line of text: "It takes too damn long!"  

"That's not very specific, Doc," Sulu counters with a smile, taking the padd back and scrolling through the names and associated bets.

"But you can all agree it's true. And it's the closest you've got. Better than your bet. What even _is_ 'sex pollen'?"

Sulu nearly chokes. Chekov jumps in before he can even try to form a reply. "Is _that_ what your plant project is growing?" he accuses. 

McCoy gets up, leaving the botanist to make his own explanations. "I'll pick up the collection after the next shift. And one more thing," he adds, pausing. "Tell Chekov he can have his socks back."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this universe, so any thoughts would be appreciated! Had a hard time finishing it up without overthinking every little detail. I have a lot of ideas in planning, so if you like my Trek fic, comments would encourage me to write more. I’m planning to explore the relationship in more depth later, but this was just a fun little story.


End file.
